


Pollen

by Catwithabook



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 21:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catwithabook/pseuds/Catwithabook
Summary: Gardening in the slums is not easy. Especially not at the height of summer. Especially when a certain SOLDIER insists on being distracting.





	Pollen

Summer in Sector Five of the Midgar slums is stifling. What is marginally bearable heat above the plate ferments and festers below it into a visible haze that clings to everything and everyone. Most stay indoors taking advantage of whatever cooling systems might be up and running; while the unfortunate ones forced – for whatever reason – to venture out, try to make it back inside as quickly as possible. 

Aerith Gainsborough sighs in relief as she reaches the doors of the Church. The sticky heat made the trip through the narrow streets, though short, nearly unbearable. Even with her long hair pulled up, twisted on top of her head, the back of her neck is slick with sweat. She had relinquished her usual sun dress in favor of a pair of cut off shorts and a long vest covered in pockets. Even so, her tank top clings unpleasantly between her shoulder blades, and she can feel a line of sweat trickling down her spine.  
The doors protest as she drags one slowly open, bracing her shoulder to get the creaky, ancient wood to move. The inside of the church is improbably cool and quiet. The heavy stone walls muffle to constant drone of the machinery contained within the plate and the high ceilings wick away the suffocating, muggy heat. 

The best part though, at least in Aerith’s opinion, is the smell. The mix of smog, garbage and hot metal that pervades the slums during the worst of the summer heat is almost completely overpowered by the moist, clean scent of green and growing things.

She inhales deeply and closes her eyes for a moment basking in smells of earth and flowers, before releasing a contented sigh. The world suddenly seems much more bearable. And with that, she gets to work.

Contrary to popular belief, her flowers did not just suddenly appear; no one seemed to realize that they were growing in one of the most hostile places for plant life on the face of the planet. When she had first found the church there had been only a few scrubby weeds poking through the broken floorboards, which was admittedly more what grew almost anywhere else in the slums. 

She first found the Church on one of her many excursions into the slums as a child. The day had been slanting into evening and she almost didn’t give the place a second thought, but there had been a certain stillness to it that had given her pause. Soon she had started using it as an escape, a place to be away from the rush of the city. A refuge that was hers and hers alone.

The first seeds she had planted had been a whim – a desire to see something grow and flourish when so much around her seemed to be dying. The flowers had been slow to sprout, coming up a few at a time. She’d babied them, caring for them determinedly until gradually they began to flourish. To bloom. She’s spent countless hours and every penny she could save working to make sure that they continue to do so. 

Now, as she examines the pool of flowers nestled in the floorboards, she can’t help but feel a spark of rebellious joy, as though she’s put one over on the city and the company that owns it.

She starts to hum absently as she tugs up the errant weeds that have slipped in amongst her flowers, whispering apologies to the intruders as she gathers them up. Really, they have as much right to grow as her flowers, she’d just rather they chose to do it somewhere other than her garden!

As Aerith works, she checks the soil. It’s usually moist enough – she suspects that there’s a natural spring somewhere beneath the old building. However, during the heights of summer, she often ends up lugging pails of water to keep the dirt the right dampness. With this heat, having to deal with heavy water buckets seems daunting.  
Thankfully, the earth seems to be willing to hold onto its moisture for now. If the heat keeps up, she might have to deal with them later in the week; but, for now, she’ll just leave it. Gently, she trails a finger around the stamen of one of the more vibrantly golden flowers; it comes away coated with pollen. She stares down at the blush of bright orange powder that’s smeared across the pad of her finger. 

One of the major problems with trying to grow anything in Midgar is the lack of pollinators – the bees and butterflies have long since been starved into nonexistence in the city limits. So, she does it herself. With careful fingertips, she smudges the pollen over the stigma of another flower, a soft gold that catches and clings. She smiles in satisfaction.  
It’s almost meditative work, slow and careful and meticulous. Her fingers stain and the powder smudges across her palm. She smiles as she chooses partners for the flowers, working her way carefully through the patch. 

“What’re you doing?” The curious voice behind her makes her jump, her fingers skidding and leaving a streak of pollen on the white petals of the flower she’s bent over. She spins around to face the doors of the Church. Standing at the edge of the flowerbed is Zack, head tilted curiously to the side.

It takes her mere seconds to wade out of the flowers, more than a little anxious to confirm for herself that he’s well despite reports from his forced ‘vacation’ that he was fine. She’s halfway into his arms when he freezes.

“What the hell?” He catches her hand, staring in consternation and concern at her palm. Aerith follows his gaze and blinks at the sheer amount of golden dust smeared there.

“It’s just pollen, silly” she says not bothering to hide the giggle in her voice. Zack looks confused. 

“Why do you have it all over your hands?” He grabs her other hand, looking back up to meet her eyes. She’s always struck by exactly how blue they are, almost glowing – like glimpses of the sky that she catches through the chinks in the plate.

“Aerith?” Zack’s concerned voice breaks through her contemplation of exactly the shade of sky that would best match his irises.

“Hmmmm?” she’s thinking maybe high noon, when the sky is clear and bright.

“Pollen can’t hurt you can it?” She blinks in surprise.

“Um, no?” She looks at him confused. “Didn’t you grow up in the country?”

“Well yeah, but you’re acting like you just got hit with a Confuse. Anyway, who knows what growing in Midgar could do to flowers!” 

“Did you just accuse my flowers of being mutant?!” She smacks his shoulder in disbelief. 

Zack visibly panics, his eyes dart to the side trying to think of a way to appease her. She crosses her arms, and draws herself up as far as she can. “I think you owe me an apology, don’t you?” 

“Oh?” He says, leaning back and rubbing the back of his head.

“Yeah,” she pauses a moment before adding, “I think one kiss would do it.” She nods decisively. Zack arches an eyebrow, but Aerith simply grins up at him and clasps her hands behind her back, eyes meeting his steadily. 

“A kiss? Are you sure just one will make up for calling your flowers mutant?” The worry bleeds from his tone replaced with his habitual teasing. Underneath the playful flirtation she can hear a shiver of heat beginning to creep into the timbre of his voice. Her grin widens and she steps close, reaching out to cup his cheek in her palm, carelessly smearing pollen across his skin. 

“One to start with?” She murmurs, eyes sliding from his down to his lips. 

They’ve been doing this long enough now that it’s easy – easy to slide her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck and bury her fingers in the soft feathery hair there, to lean in and let his arm wrap around her waist, to let his hand cup the back of her neck. After what she considers far to brief a contact he pulls back, his fingers trailing through her ponytail. She’s unsure when he removed the ribbon holding her hair up, but it was long enough for him to unravel the style completely.

“That payment enough?” he’s breathless and she pulls him back down. 

“Guess either that a ‘no’ or an ‘I really missed you’.” He says when the kiss breaks. She rolls her eyes. 

“Silly,” Aerith feels like her smile is now permanently affixed to her face. “Of course I missed you.”

Zack’s smile is entirely different from his grin. His grin says that he’s up to something, whether it be trouble or flirting or just generally being his usual puppy dog self. His smile however, that’s a much rarer commodity. It says contentment or happiness. Something she thinks he could always use a little more of. 

“My ribbon,” she glances up at him. He holds it up grinning, and then with careful quick motions ties the pink silk around his wrist. She swallows. Something about seeing his gift to her against his skin helps stoke the slow swell of want stirring behind her breast bone. 

“So, what do you say I take you out for dinner? We can go somewhere nice and,” Zack starts only for her to silence him with a finger against his lips.  
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather just stay here,” she counters. 

The knowing look he gives her is one that promises good things in the near future. She can feel the anticipation creep into her smile. It’s then that she notices the streak of pollen on his jaw, traces of powder in his hair, and the smudge on his cheekbone. For some reason, the sight makes her catch her breath. The pause is broken when he steps forward to catch her hand lifting it and watching the light play over the pollen smears. 

“So what were you doing to get so much pollen on your hands?” he asks, catching the tip of her middle finger between his lips. She can’t quite suppress a shiver. 

“Pollenating.” The distraction and arousal in her voice are so blatantly obvious to her own ears. “No bees here, I’ve got to – “ she gasps as he starts to investigate the hollow under the mound of her thumb. He chuckles against her skin. “You jerk,” she murmurs, the heat in her voice completely overruling her words. She cups a hand under his jaw drawing up so that she can steal another kiss. He sighs against her lips and she can feel him start to relax against her. One arm winds tightly back around her waist, his other hand fumbling with her remaining hair tie. 

She always forgets exactly what kissing him feels like. The pressure of his lips on hers, the catch of his hand in her hair. She distantly feels her hair slip free of its confinement and pulls back with a gasp. Her hair is warm curtain down her back and between that and her vest she can feel sweat pickling on her forehead and in the hollow of her collar bones. She shrugs out of her vest, chucking it in the direction of a pew behind her. Then she reaches out with purpose. She’s never sure how much time they’re going to get and if this is what they’ve got then she’s going to make the most of it. 

She grabs the collar of his sweater and drags him down to kiss him, losing herself in the press of lips and twist of tongue and the simple fact that he’s here. She presses herself as close to his chest as she can her hand coming up to tangle tightly in his hair. He runs warmer than she does. She wonders distantly if it’s because of the Mako or if it’s just how he’s wired. 

She begins to undo his left suspender with a confidence born of familiarity. Aerith is not a fan of the layers of leather and heavy fabric always feels like more than a barrier than they actually are. She catches the pauldron as his suspender slackens. 

“This thing seriously has too many belts.” Zack mutters as he grapples with the catches on his main belt. Aerith laughs quietly as she slides the shoulder piece across the floor in the direction of her own vest and then hurries to get the second suspender-pauldron combo undone. He hurls his belt in the same direction as she had sent the other pieces of his armor. 

Once freed of the leather constraints, or at least most of them, she can get a better look at him. She trails her hands up his sides and passes them over his newly freed shoulders.  
She is fairly certain that the people who go on about memorizing their partners are full of shit. Maybe it’s because she only sees him sporadically, but every time she can touch him she finds something new – a new hollow, the scent of him, the vibrant energy that he seems to radiate, a new ridge of scar tissue – he is never quite the same. 

Today, she smooth’s her fingers over, the too warm skin of his bare arms and under the edge of his sweater. She can feel the marks that the suspenders leave, divots in the surface of his skin. She tugs anxiously at his uniform, desperate to find all the hidden marks. All the new surprises contained within his skin. 

He catches one of her hands, tugging it out of his clothing. She shoots him a look that says exactly how unhappy she is about this turn of events. He laughs at her quietly, releases her hand and tugs the sweater over his head. She pauses. 

The smooth lines of his form, strong and determined, are beautiful in the high contrast shadows of the church. It’s not the first time she’s seen him shirtless, far from it, but she pauses to catalogue the newness of it this time. The new scratches, stand out crimson against his skin, the familiar ridges of long healed scar tissues. She’s learned to read his body language. To see how he holds himself, to tell where he carries his tension, to tell how his last mission went. To tell where it hurts. 

She reaches out, trailing her fingers gently along a mark in the dip of his waist. Something had taken a swipe and gotten through. She longs for a Cura materia; something to chase the shadows of his job from his body, if not from his mind. She stoops, bending to press a kiss to the cut. Zack jolts as though he had been shocked and Aerith smirks as she curves her kisses around his hip. The combination of the summer heat outside and the dark colors of uniform have conspired to leave his skin slightly tacky with sweat and glowing with warmth. 

Zack sighs. 

“Are you going to get to have all the fun here?” he asks, his voice deceptively light. She peers up at him and blinks. The heat that had sparked in his voice earlier has moved into his eyes, darkening them to a blue more suited to twilight than to noon. She swallows, and stands, tilting her head as she looks at him. He catches her hand – fingers weaving between hers – the gentle tug drawing her forward enough so that he can press his lips to the edge of her collar bone, just to the inside of her tops strap. His lips are a spark against her skin and she arches toward him. Her hands catch in his hair, taking in the flecks of gold against the black before his lips press against her throat and she loses herself in the touch. 

Distantly she’s aware that he’s fumbling with her top, pushing it up her torso towards her shoulders. It’s the complicated slip of his mouth against her skin that draws all her attention to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Abruptly, he steps back to whip the shirt over her head leaving her standing alone and too far from him. 

Impatiently, she tugs the button of her shorts free. Her eyes never leaving his, she lets them puddle to the ground and steps after him. It’s then that she feels it – a shiver of phantom cold – the sends goosebumps rippling over her skin. Zack’s hands come up to rub the pebbling from her skin and the cold settles queasily in her stomach. She glances around nervously searching for something that would have set her so on edge. There’s nothing but the familiar spread of flowers and their scattered belongings. 

“You alright?” Zack asks. His voice has dropped, but his gaze clearly says the he knows something has changed. She shakes her head just slightly, her hair sifting against her bare shoulder as she whispers. “I’m not sure.” Her fingers idly slide through the hair at his temple, even as he nods and turns to press another kiss into the palm of her hand. She clenches her fist as he pulls away, trapping the warmth against her skin. 

“You’re sure about th-“ 

She cuts him off with a kiss. The playfulness has vanished and the desperate desire of her kiss bleeds into something hot and tight in her gut - a need for contact, solid indisputable proof that they are both here and that all is well. 

He resists her for a moment, fighting against the pull of her kiss and his hands have stalled at her waist reluctant to move in the face of his need to know where the sudden intensity came from. Why she’s stopped playing. 

She doesn’t have an answer to give. 

So, she places her hands on his shoulders and pushes. Just enough that he can feel it. She knows that if he’s really insistent, he won’t budge – he’ll fight her to the bitter end if he thinks it best – but she also knows that he trusts her.

He takes a step back, enough that he can catch her eyes. Hold them. 

She doesn’t look away as she reaches for the hem of bra, pulling the pink fabric over head with a jerk. His eyes don’t leave hers but a slight smile has tucked itself back into the corner of his mouth. She flicks the pink garment in the direction of her shorts and presses her hands back into the shadows of his shoulders and pushes again stepping forward carefully to avoid flowers and slowly disintegrating floorboards. 

When his shoulders hit the pillar she’s aiming for, the both stop, eyes still locked. He slides his hands up her sides, his fingers grazing the dip of her waist and avoiding the spot that always tickles on her ribs. Then, ever so lightly, he drags a thumb over her nipple. It sends a jolt up her spine, pressing her flush against him. 

He smirks, deliberately circling the digit around the softer pink of her areola. Aerith inhales deeply, trying to ground herself again. She only manages to choke on the breath when he leans forward to press a brief kiss to the side of her neck. The single soft press of his lips turns into a chain of them, trailing down the side of her neck to her clavicle. He glances up through his lashes, eyes sparking with good humor before lifting her faster than she can follow. 

A moment of weightlessness later and her shoulders are pressed against the cool, faintly rough stone of the pillar. She gasps and manages to rearrange her legs around his hips, her left hand sinks into the hair at the back of his neck while her other clings to his shoulder. 

There’s still enough clothing between them to be annoying. The scratch of his pants against the inside of her thighs is rough and persistent. Her own underwear is sodden enough to be uncomfortable and she shifts, trying to free herself from the position in order to deal with it - to shed the last of the layers separating them. He simply tightens his grip on the backs of her thighs and catches her lips in another kiss.

He’s gained her intensity now and the kiss lingers twisting from a single press of lips into a tangle of tongues and familiar sighs. She shifts again trying to press closer still this time. Zack gasps into the kiss, one of his hands rising to cup the side of her face. Just as she’s beginning to lose herself in the kiss, her hands wandering over the sharp slope of his collarbone and curve of his shoulder blade, he moves again. 

The shift is slow and careful, a pivot and a dip that lays her out on the edge of the flowers, the leaves a slick and bumpy cushion under her shoulders. She opens her mouth to protest, her flowers shouldn’t suffer for their libido. 

“Hey,” he says laughter and heat warring for possession of his voice, “it’s either slinters or a few broken leaves.” She snorts and moves to tug at the buckle of one of his remaining belts. 

“Fine. But I think I’m going to need more than just a kiss to repay this,” she jerks impatiently at the buckle. He moves to help, finally shimmying out of his pants. She can’t help but notice that his boxers are printed with chocobos. 

“Alright,” he murmurs leaning back over her. The heat trapped against her skin suddenly feels immediate and just the wrong side of too warm. He trails a hand down the length of her side. 

Sex isn’t something Aerith’s ever put too much weight on, but this moment feels different. It’s almost jarring when he presses inside her, sharp and immediate and almost too much. She shifts restlessly against the press of his weight and drags him in for another kiss. An experimental roll of her hips has him shuddering and burying his face in the curve of her neck. 

It’s all downhill from there. 

The rhythm they set is intent, just hurried enough to exacerbate the almost too warm situation. She’s panting and has a hand clenched at the base of his neck, her eyes squeezed shut. Her stomach clenches as he suddenly shifts, rolling them so that she looms over him instead of the other way around. 

She sifts, adjusting to the change in position and as their rhythm picks up again, she leans forward pressing her face into the curve of Zack’s neck. The smell of crushed leaves, sweat, and damp earth are heavy in her nose as she pressed down and feels him jolt against her – pressing up into her in short sharp jerks. Her chest feels tight for no apparent reason as he gasps against her ear. She presses closer and lock her arms around his neck. They are still for a few moments. 

“Aerith?” The question is murmured against her ear. “You alright?” She grimaces at the worry in his words. Zack is always cautious in moments like this; worried that he’s done something to harm her. She pushes herself up, resting her hands on his chest and freezes. There’s never much light in the church but sometimes, late in the day, a stray beam of sunlight would filter through one of the high, broken stained glass windows. 

Today’s has scattered bright scarlet shards across the floor, splashing across Zack’s chest under her hands. She stares down at the bloody light seeping from between her fingers and closes her eyes. 

“Hey! Hey, what’s wrong?” Zack’s voice is edged with more than worry now. 

“Nothing.” She whispers. Even though she’s not sure that’s true. “Nothing’s wrong. I just had a moment…” she trails off, shaking her head. She opens her eyes to meet his, worried and bright and such a contrast to the light all around them. 

He reaches out and rests a hand against her stomach. His fingers stroke across her belly, through another splash of crimson. 

“The sun sure is pretty when it makes it down here,” he says quietly. Giving her an out she thinks. She nods and then sighs.

“I just have a… bad feeling today. I’m not sure why.” She drags her eyes away from her own middle and back to his eyes.  
Zack nods and then grins. 

“You’re not worried about me are you?” He asks. Aerith swallows and bows her head. She can’t exactly deny it. “Whatever they throw at me next is going to be a cinch, so don’t worry about me. I’m going to be just fine. You focus on getting those flowers all over the slums alright?” He beams at her.

She can’t help but return his smile.


End file.
